Brave
by r4ven3
Summary: This story takes place in an AU universe between 27th Dec 2014, and 1st January 2015. Ruth has been gone since Harry gave away Albany to save her, and now she is back. Some angst, but chiefly a lot of fluffy fluff. Told in 8 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Whilst this fic bears some resemblance to a previous story of mine - "Coming Home" (published mid June 2013) - and the story arc appears similar, it is a different story altogether. This story is just an excuse for some HR fluff.**_

* * *

First step: Take a taxi to the right address. Done.

Second step: Walk up the pathway to the front door. Done.

Third, and final step: Ring the doorbell.

Ruth hesitates on the third step, because once it is done, it cannot be undone. Is this what she really wants? It is what she has to do ….. what she _must_ do. She has come all this way, and she cannot back out now. _Be brave_, she tells herself.

She rings the doorbell, and waits. Nothing. There is no dog barking, no clicking of canine claws on polished wood floors, no muffled footsteps approaching the door from inside …... nothing.

After all this – almost four years, over three thousand miles, and a (perhaps unwise) sudden decision to return to her home country – the very person she has flown all this way to see is not at home. She'd checked the electoral roll before she left Boston, and his address has not changed. She'd also checked the MI-5 personnel files, and he'd been listed as `retired', and she hopes that is not a euphemism for a more permanent exit from this life.

She repeats the third step, pressing the doorbell twice, just in case. She waits. And then she waits some more, and then just as she turns to leave, her whole body leaden with disappointment, the door opens.

Ruth turns, her heart beating rapidly as a bird's, her face flushing. It is then she remembers that she has always reacted to his presence in this way. How could she possibly have forgotten?

He stands in the doorway, his hand resting on the edge of the door. The years have been kind to him, and other than a thinness around his face and neck, his appearance hasn't changed. To say his face shows surprise is an understatement. "Ruth," he says, his voice croaky with unexpressed emotion. "I wasn't ….. Why didn't you ….?"

"It's rather chilly out here …... May I come in?"

"Of course," and he steps aside to allow her past him, before shutting the door behind them.

Together, they turn to look at the other. She is dressed in the same clothes she'd worn on the plane – a warm woollen skirt of mid calf length, a jumper which clings to her body, a jacket, and black boots. She also wears a black overcoat. He is dressed in faded blue jeans, and a cream-coloured cable-knit jumper, and on his feet he wears only black socks. His house is warm, after all.

Now she's here, Ruth doesn't know what to say. They haven't spoken, haven't set eyes on one another for almost four years. What if there's a wife or a girlfriend stashed away somewhere?

"Here, I'll take your coat," he says, reaching towards her, and she removes the garment, hands it to him, and he hangs it on a peg on the wall behind the door. Their fingers touch for just a moment when the coat passes from her hand to his, and the thrill which passes through her shocks her, surprises her …... after all this time.

"I'm sorry …... perhaps I should have …... I only decided to do this …... a couple of weeks ago, but I had to wait until there was a flight, and …... well, I missed Christmas …... but -"

"Ruth …... it's fine. You're welcome. Very welcome." His voice sets her cells tingling, another sensation long forgotten.

"I don't even know if you have someone …... a wife, or …..."

He smiles at her struggle to complete her sentences. It is one of the things he has missed about her, despite his frustration when trying to communicate with her. "There's no wife," he says quietly, leading her into his sitting room, where an open fire burns, and there are small signs that it is Christmas week – Christmas cards open on the mantlepiece, a small, artificial Christmas tree decorated sparsely, but tastefully. "And no girlfriend, either," he adds, noticing her looking around the room, for signs of …... someone sharing his home.

"Why is that?" Ruth stands in the middle of the room, looking around, and then turns to look into the face she has dreamed of almost nightly for nearly four years.

"You know why." Harry indicates she should sit on the sofa. "Tea, coffee, wine or whiskey? That's about all the choice I can offer you."

"Tea would be lovely," Ruth says, sitting on the sofa, smiling up at the man she'd loved for as long as she can remember.

When he leaves the room, she sighs heavily, allowing the tension to leave her. He's just a man, after all, and there is the strongest of chances that he has moved on from her, even if it's only that he no longer thinks of her with fondness.

"I seem to remember you having a dog," she says when he returns with a tray, carrying a teapot, cups, spoons, sugar, and milk, and places it on the coffee table between the sofa and his armchair.

"I had to give her away when she got old. I was busy at work, and couldn't care for her properly. It was just before Lucas died …... just before you …... I gave her to a nursing home."

"But you didn't say anything."

"Ruth …... you forget that at that time, we were hardly close."

Ruth sighs, remembering the day of Ros Myers' funeral, and how from that day on, things between them were never quite the same.

"They contacted me - I think it was a little less than a year ago – to tell me she'd died." Harry stops speaking while he pours them each a cup of tea, and they each add sugar and milk. "That was a particularly hard time," he adds, his voice barely audible.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ruth says, knowing how much Harry had loved his little dog. "And your children? How are they?"

At last, he smiles, and she can see the old Harry in his eyes – the fire, the passion of the man she once knew …... and loved. "My daughter now lives in London. She's married, with a two-year-old daughter, and she's expecting her second child in five months. My son is still unsettled, but he has a steady job, which is a good start. He's currently between girlfriends. I see Catherine far more than my son, and I enjoy the time spent with my granddaughter. Sometimes I have her overnight when Catherine and Mark go out for an evening."

"What's her name?"

"Ellie. It's short for Eleanor." Harry stops suddenly. Ruth gets the impression that he has few personal conversations, and being in her company is beginning to open something within him …... some need for close personal contact. She reads embarrassment on his face. This man who sits across from her is a long way from the confident and talented section head of Section D in MI-5.

"You're retired," she says.

He nods, looking down at the cup of tea he holds in his hands. "After I went back to work after my suspension, it was on the proviso that I leave within three years. So I did. I retired …... before they kicked me out. Scarlet – my little dog – died a month later."

"Oh, Harry, that's awful." Ruth puts her cup on the coffee table, and leans forward. "You were so brilliant -"

"They didn't want brilliant, Ruth. Compliance is the order of the day. Initiative is now frowned upon. Thinking for oneself is considered dangerous. Following procedure is now the only acceptable pathway to achieving results. I was told there were boxes needed ticking, and I'd been used to ignoring the boxes altogether." He smiles a wry smile.

"Who is doing your job?"

"Erin Watts. She arrived -"

"I met her briefly before I …..."

There it is. The elephant in the room. Ruth had left London while Harry was on suspension after he'd given away Albany, and they haven't spoken, haven't seen one another since they met on the roof balcony of Thames House two days after Lucas North jumped off Enver Tower. Harry desperately wants to know why, and now Ruth is ready to tell him. It will have taken them almost four years – forty four months and twelve days, to be precise – to get around to having this conversation.

Ruth looks at Harry across the space between their chairs. She _really_ looks at him – and finds him - beneath the neat clothing and the closely trimmed hair, and the veneer of middle class politeness. He holds his tea cup between his hands, and is turning it around, with more concentration than is necessary, but she senses his sadness. He has become accustomed to loss and defeat.

It is high time she came clean.

"Harry," she says, waiting for eye contact from him before she continues. "What do you know about my leaving? What were you told?"

He takes a deep breath before replying, and it is then she sees the deep pain in his eyes. Harry has the look of a man lost inside his own life... and from where she sits, it is all her fault.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:Thank you for the reviews, and of course, for reading. This chapter follows on straight from the last.  
**_

_**I'm planning to post rather quickly, as the whole 8 chapters takes place over only 5 days, and I don't wish to drag the story out... and, to be honest, the story is rather light.**_

* * *

"They …... Towers, mainly …... told me you had decided to bow out in order to make it easier for me to go back to the job." His eyes, when he looks at her, convey hurt, but also a deeply-buried anger.

Ruth has been prepared for his anger.

"That isn't …... quite the way it happened, Harry. My decision was made for me. At the time, I saw no other alternative than to go."

"They wouldn't even tell me where you'd gone. I waited for you to contact me, so that I knew you were alright. We'd parted on terms which were so strained …... it was very difficult, returning to work without you being there. I was …..." Harry presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Ruth knows that to be a sign that he is stressed. _She_ has caused him this.

"Towers visited me one night. It would have been three or four days after Lucas had died. It was clear to me that he was under orders from higher up. He had difficulty maintaining eye contact with me, but essentially what he said was …... that if I cared for you at all, I should leave the country, and …... and stay away until after you retire. It's just that no-one thought to let me know when it was you'd retired."

Harry leans forward, considering moving to sit next to her …... to offer her some comfort, but he remains seated.

Ruth is surprised to feel her composure beginning to crack. She has never cried, never raged about losing her job, her life, her home, her friends, and the possibility of something with Harry. This is despite having turned down his proposal of marriage. She takes a deep breath before she continues, but she can't look at Harry. Seeing the pain – or the anger – in his face will break open what is left of her self control.

"He …... he said that I was a liability. He said that I was your one great weakness, and that while I stayed on – in London, working beside you – that would always be the case. He said my continuing presence would only compromise you."

Ruth sees Harry about to speak, and she holds up her hand to silence him. She is here to speak – to confess – and so speak she must.

"He pointed out to me how fragile was your hold on your position, and that there were ….. those who were wanting you out. He suggested that your job would be less tenuous were I not around. I asked him should I move to Oxford, or maybe Scotland, but he …... said I should leave the country."

"But I wrote a report on you ... on your importance to the service."

"Towers warned me that such a document would be viewed as the exaggerations of a man who is on the verge of losing his mind to love." Ruth takes another deep breath before she continues. "Towers said that you would not be safe from your detractors unless I was totally gone from your life. He also told me any phone calls between us would be monitored, and for your safety – and mine – I should not attempt any contact with you …... not even a postcard."

They each remember for a moment the first time Ruth was exiled, and how, after a year, she had sent Harry a postcard, letting him know she was well, and implying that she loved him still. That postcard had given him hope, keeping him going for months. During this last period of exile, no such luxuries were allowed, and Ruth had stuck to the rules, despite her deep desire to make contact with him.

Ruth doesn't know when it is the tears begin to fall, but by the time she has finished speaking, they are streaming down her face. She looks up at Harry at last, and on his face she reads shock …... shock and surprise, and a slowly dawning realisation.

"Jesus, Ruth," he breathes. "We were both played …... like the proverbial violin."

Suddenly, the emotions she has been holding in for almost four years spill over, and Ruth leans forward, and rests her face in her hands, while she gives her pain a voice. Without hesitation, Harry gets up, and sits beside her, gradually easing close enough to her so that he can slip his arm around her shoulders. Feeling his warmth so close to her, Ruth crumples against him, and allows him to brush away her tears with his thumb.

There is a long period of time during which neither speak. Both lean against the back of the sofa, with Harry's arm still loosely around her shoulders, holding her in a comforting half-embrace. Ruth's tears have exhausted her, and she rests her head against his shoulder, waiting for him to move away. When, after fifteen minutes or so he doesn't move from her side, Ruth turns her face to gaze at his profile. How could she have left him …... again? How could she have not checked with Harry first, to see how he felt about her leaving the country? Perhaps he could have come up with an alternate solution.

"Would you have advised me to go, Harry?"

"Christ, no," he says, with barely disguised anger. "It was my decision to let Albany go, and I was aware of the likely consequences. _My_ decision, Ruth. I can't figure out what Towers and Co were thinking, although it appears that your …... our …... relationship presented a threat to national security."

"What absolute tosh."

"I agree, but you have to admit, Ruth, that you were present each time the security service was under the microscope."

"Whatever does that mean?"

"Governments like to maintain control over their brightest, especially when the brightest are women. You were always several steps ahead of them. Janet Todd is now the Home Secretary. She had a brilliant career ahead of her in the MoD. As Home Secretary she maintains the appearance of having a career trajectory, while in truth, she is being carefully monitored. Being in the public eye means she can't act with any kind of …... individuality."

Ruth sits up straight, and reluctantly, Harry removes his arm from around her shoulders, liberating her from his embrace. It was lovely while it lasted …... lovely and warm and close and comfortable.

"Where is he now?"

"Who ….. Towers?"

Ruth nods, turning towards him to face him.

"He retired just after I did. I think he lives on the Isle Of Man."

"Strange choice."

"He and his wife have had a house there for years. It seems he was pushed out of office, to make way for Janet Todd. It was at about that time that the new broom swept through Whitehall."

Suddenly, Ruth gets up from the sofa, leaving Harry sitting there, watching her as she side-steps the coffee table, and wanders across the width of the room to the mantelpiece above the fireplace.

"Is this …...?" Ruth asks, turning to check with Harry the identity of the people in the photograph.

"That's Catherine and Mark, and Ellie."

"She's …. she's lovely, Harry."

"She is. She looks a lot like Catherine at the same age."

"And this one of you and Ellie." Ruth picks up the photo in its frame, and studies it more closely. "She has your mouth."

"Yes, poor kid."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Ruth places the photograph back on the mantelpiece, and then turns towards Harry. "I used to think that your mouth was one of your best features."

Her eyes seek out his, and her expression is teasing. Harry, still perched on the sofa, meets her eyes with his own. This is a different Ruth, a more confident Ruth. She had always ducked and dodged any suggestion that there might be something between them. Now …... now, she is showing him the way. He is not used to this. He prefers to lead the way, but this is Ruth, and with her, nothing is ever as it should be, as he'd like it to be.

"It's your eyes are your best feature," Ruth continues, turning back to the mantelpiece, and looking at some of the other photographs there.

"That one is my parents," Harry says from just behind her, proving that all spies should creep around wearing only socks on their feet. "And that one is Catherine and Graham when they were at school."

"And this?" Ruth points at an old black and white picture of two boys in school uniform. Both boys have unruly, curly fair hair.

"Me and my brother, Ben."

Ruth is very aware of Harry at her back. She is sure she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. "Which one is you?" she asks, her voice quiet, to match his own.

"I'm the older one."

Of course, Ruth can see which one is Harry. His eyes stare at the camera, and while his brother seems distracted, bored, like the whole thing is a joke, Harry appears to be confronting the camera lens, like he is about to take issue with the person holding the camera.

Suddenly, Ruth steps away from the mantelpiece, and stands facing Harry. The fire still burns quietly in the grate, warming their legs.

"I really ought to go, Harry. I've said what I came here to say."

Harry experiences a moment of panic. "Please don't go," he says, reaching out to grasp one of Ruth's hands. "I ….. you've barely been here an hour."

"But ….. I dumped my things at the B&B, and I'm still wearing what I wore on the plane. I have to shower, change, unpack my bags. I have to eat something …..."

"Then let me take you to dinner, Ruth."

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm asking you because I want you to have dinner with me, Ruth. Will you allow me to take you to dinner?"


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth hadn't expected what she found when she'd knocked on Harry's door. She'd expected him to be distant, perhaps disinterested, even angry. She'd even prepared herself for the possibility of him being married, or at the very least, partnered. She hadn't prepared herself for the quiet, wary and lonely man who'd answered the door. But then again, Harry had always been a loner, but being surrounded by people all day in his work, he'd not given the appearance of being lonely. Perhaps he always had been.

She dresses for their dinner, keeping in mind that he had said he'd take her to his favourite eatery, and that he only ever wears jeans when he eats there. "The food is chiefly Mediterranean," he'd said, clearly pleased that she'd agreed to have dinner with him. "I think you'll like it. I try to eat there at least once a week."

Ruth stands in front of the oak framed cheval mirror in her bedroom at the B&B. Her gaze is critical, but she is pleased with her choices – black trousers, grape-coloured jumper with a scooped, round neck, topped by a black jacket. It is casual, but smart, and she hopes Harry likes it.

There it is. That's what this is about. She is going to dinner with Harry – their second dinner in just over eight years – and she cares a lot about the outcome of this dinner. She still cares a lot about what Harry thinks. It is clear to them both that they have changed, and it is equally clear that they each still care for the other. Is that enough? Can the love be resurrected?

Ruth decides, just as she hears the doorbell downstairs, that she is prepared to open herself to the possibility of resurrected love. This time, she cannot afford to be running from Harry whenever she experiences discomfort. This time, she must be brave. Grabbing her coat, she heads downstairs to meet him.

Harry stands – rather awkwardly, Ruth thinks - in the small downstairs reception room, wearing a plain, black woollen coat over black jeans, a pale blue open-necked shirt, and a cream V-necked jumper. She notices his eyes roaming over her in appreciation. This could be an interesting evening. She allows him to help her put on her coat, and she also allows herself to enjoy the brief touch of his fingers on her neck, as he straightens the collar of her jacket, and then her coat.

* * *

"It was when the Olympics were in the later planning stages that it was made clear to me that MI-5 were to take a back seat in the security for the event. The writing had been on the wall for some time, but when private firms were hired in our stead, I was not impressed. Towers made a show of protesting, but I suspect he was doing that for my benefit. Sorry …... I'm rambling."

They were sitting over dessert and coffee, and Ruth had been listening while Harry dissected the final three years of his career. In a way, she feels relieved that she wasn't around to witness it.

"I haven't asked you," Harry continues, his eyes on his coffee cup, his discomfort evident, "did you leave …... someone back in the US?"

"You're not asking me whether I left my cat with a neighbour, are you?"

Harry had been in a serious mood all evening, and for the first time, she sees a wide smile on his face.

"No, Ruth. I'm asking you if you have someone back there …... someone who will draw you back there once again."

"No. There's no-one, and there hasn't been. I had a few dates in the first year or so, but no-one was a patch on …..."

Harry's eyes are on hers, pupils dilated, waiting for her to finish the sentence.

"Do I have to spell it out, Harry?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you do."

Ruth hesitates, knowing that what she is about to divulge will open her to him in a way for which she is not yet ready. She takes a breath before she speaks, and as she does, she holds his eyes with her own. "You, Harry …... you spoiled me for all the other men there are in the world. Whenever I met someone who seemed ….. nice, there was always something that bothered me. He'd not be as well read as you, or he'd have a high voice, and I prefer men to have deep voices. I had three dates with a rather nice man from West Virginia, who was doing a doctorate at Boston University. I began to think that he might be …... suitable, but then, after three dates, I realised that I knew everything about him, and his doctorate thesis, and he knew nothing about me. He talked about himself, and I listened."

"You always were a good listener," he says, his voice low.

"And so were you, Harry. You still are."

"I've been prattling away to you, and I haven't heard about your past four years."

"There's not a lot to tell you. I went straight to Boston, and stayed there. I'd always wanted to go there. For almost three years I worked in a book shop which was walking distance from my flat. One day, a woman entered the book shop, and asked about some ancient Greek texts. Of course, what she asked for was only available in Europe, so I told her all about it. By the time she left, she'd offered me a job teaching at a college nearby. My contract ran out three weeks ago, and I was asked to renew. It was then I knew I'd been away from home for long enough, and that I needed to see you …... again …... even if it was only to apologise to you for leaving without saying goodbye. I needed to come home."

By the time she is finished speaking, Ruth notices Harry's fingers moving nervously around the rim of his coffee cup, and he appears to be breathing in gasps. When she looks up at his face, she sees his eyes are red, and that he is desperately holding back tears.

"Shall we go?" she asks quietly.

Harry very quickly wipes his fingers across his eyes, and stands, still looking down. He has already paid for the meal, and so all they need to do is gather their coats, and leave. Ruth takes charge of getting their coats, and thanking the staff for the meal. They leave quickly, much to the consternation of Sergio and Danielle, the proprietors. Ruth smiles at them, nods and waves, as she leads Harry out of the restaurant, her hand on his back, from where she can feel the tension in his body. When they reach his car, she takes his key from his fingers, and unlocks the car, then she opens the passenger side door, and closes the door after he is seated.

Very carefully, Ruth drives the car back to Harry's house, and parks it in the driveway. She then gets him inside his house, and leads him to the living room, where he sits in his favourite chair.

"I'll ring for a taxi," he says quietly, "or else you can take my car."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ruth replies, crossing the room to add some small logs to the fire, the embers of which are still glowing. "I can't leave you like this."

"I've had worse nights." Harry is smiling, even though his eyes are still red. As she'd been driving the car back to his house, Ruth had been aware of Harry sitting in the seat beside her, staring out his window, taking deep breaths in order to stave off the tears which threatened to fall. She knows not to ask him what is wrong. If he wants her to know, he will tell her. "I've still been afraid," he continues quietly, "that after I dropped you back at your B&B, you would somehow mysteriously disappear from my life all over again."

He has answered her unspoken question. This is another detail Ruth had forgotten about she and Harry. They are connected in ways she has not been connected with another person since her father. She _knows_ Harry, and he knows her. How could she have forgotten that? They have a deep and rare connection.

Suddenly, Ruth remembers something. She grabs her bag, and fossicks around inside it, eventually drawing out a bulky, rectangular object, gift-wrapped in shiny black paper tied with gold ribbon.

"This is for you," she says, crossing the room, and sitting on the floor at Harry's feet. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

He takes it from her, but looks embarrassed. "I have nothing for you, Ruth."

"That's where you're wrong. You're here …... with me now. That is gift enough. Open it."

He smiles as he tears open the ribbon, before pulling the paper away. Inside is a thick, black leather-bound book, and a silver pen. He opens the book to find it is lined, but empty of words. He looks down at her and lifts his eyebrows in an enquiry.

"It's a diary, Harry. I know you kept a diary while you were section head of Section D, and I presumed you wouldn't have kept a diary since you'd retired …..."

"You've presumed correctly, Ruth."

"So …... this is for you to write about your life now. I think your grandchildren would like to read it when they are grown up."

"You mean, after I'm gone?"

"Perhaps."

Harry puts the diary and pen on the small table beside his chair, and he reaches down with his hand, and lifts Ruth to her feet. "Thank you for that thoughtful gift, Ruth. I love it, and I promise to use it in the way it is intended." He lifts his other hand, and places it on her cheek, drawing her face down level with his own. All the time, he'd been wondering whether it would be too forward of him to kiss her. He need not have worried. Ruth leans towards him, and very gently places her lips on his. The kiss lasts for several seconds, neither wanting it to end, nor wanting to push the other too far too soon.

Ruth draws away first, her eyes bright, as though seeing him for the first time.

"I'll call a taxi," she says, standing up and away from him a little.

"Do you have to?"

"Yes. I do. If I don't go now, I won't want to. I have to go to Cheltenham tomorrow. I've decided to sell my mother's house."


	4. Chapter 4

After Ruth leaves in a taxi, Harry takes his brand new diary, and climbs the stairs to bed. It is only once he is sitting in bed, his back propped against a couple of pillows, that he opens the diary, preparing to write in it for the first time. He opens the leather bound book, and leafs through to the first lined page. There he reads, written in Ruth's hand writing:

_your slightest look will unclose me_

_though I have closed myself as fingers,_

_you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_

_(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose_

_or if your wish be to close me, I and _

_my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly_

_as when the heart of this flower imagines_

_the snow carefully everywhere descending;_

_nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals_

_the power of your intense fragility: whose texture_

_compels me with the colour of its countries,_

_rendering death and forever with each breathing_

Harry recognises the excerpt from a poem by E E Cummings. He hadn't thought Ruth would be a fan of Cummings, but he knows she appreciates all things American. He can only surmise that, in considering the poem extract, she sees him as fragile – not an adjective anyone has previously associated with him - with a need for opening himself up. Thus, the diary.

Suddenly, his phone rings from the bedside table. He takes a deep breath, hoping the caller is Ruth. While waiting for the taxi to arrive, they'd exchanged phone numbers.

It is. Harry smiles as he answers the phone.

"I just wanted to let you know that I got back to the B&B in one piece."

"That's good," he says, grinning like a fool.

"And I want to thank you for dinner. It was lovely."

"I enjoyed every minute of your company, Ruth."

"I'm planning to take the train to Cheltenham first thing in the morning. I may be a few days, but I thought I should come back to London and see the new year in, and …... I was thinking …... Harry ….."

"Yes?"

"Are you doing anything on New Years Eve?"

Is this Ruth asking him out? Ruth has never asked him out. Well, apart from that one time she asked him for a drink, and then Tariq interrupted the moment, and it became the drink they never got to have. "I'm …... I've already agreed to babysit Ellie, while Catherine and Mark attend a party. She's asked me to sleep over, because they don't know when they'll be home."

"Oh. It's alright, then. I have a cousin in Cheltenham who might …... like …..." and then her voice just fades.

"Ruth …... I have an idea. I hope you don't think this is inappropriate, but would you like to join while I babysit my granddaughter? I can take a couple of bottles of wine, and once Ellie goes to bed, we can have our own celebration …... together." Harry hears Ruth's hesitation. He can almost feel it. "But, if you don't think it a good idea -"

"Will I have to stay the night?"

"You don't _have_ to do anything, Ruth. I'm inviting you to see in the new year with me. Maybe we can stay up all night, but if you don't want to, I'll -"

"I want to. I want to …... very much. I just thought I'd check on the sleeping arrangements."

"Ruth, I haven't even thought that far ahead. When I stay over, I sleep in the spare room, next to Ellie's room. There's a double bed in the spare room, and …... I'm not handling this very well, am I?"

"You're handling it fine, Harry. It's me who's having difficulty working out what I'm getting myself into. I'd love to spend New Year with you. Just us …... and your granddaughter."

"She's usually asleep by seven, so we'll have the whole evening to ourselves."

"You still haven't said where I'll be sleeping."

"I don't know. They have a sofa in the living room, so I can sleep there, and you can have the bed."

"I don't want to push you out of your bed, Harry. I'm sure we can share a bed without it becoming an issue. After all, we're neither of us young and horny."

"Speak for yourself, Ruth."

"Harry!"

Ruth then hears his chuckle over the phone. Of course, he's joking. By her calculation, Harry has just turned sixty one. If he tries to jump her during the night, then he's either overly ambitious, or very, very foolish. In her heart, Ruth knows that should Harry approach her for sex, she'll not be turning him down …... but she's not about to tell him that. It might be more fun were he to discover that for himself.

After making an arrangement to speak on the phone each night Ruth is away, they end their call. Harry places his phone back on the bedside table, and picks up his new pen. He then makes his first entry in his diary:

_Saturday 27th December 2014:_

_Today my life began again, and this time I must be brave. This time there is no room for timidity, for hesitation._

_It was mid afternoon when I heard the doorbell ring, and unable to imagine it being anyone I'd want to see, I ignored it. I almost ignored it when it rang a second and then a third time, but something in the insistent tone had me wandering down the hallway, curious about who would want to see me enough to be standing at my front door on a bitterly cold, late December day. It was she, the one I have thought about daily for many years, and especially the last forty four months. _

_I feel our time has come, and this time, I will not stand by while she walks away from me. I see in her eyes a reflection of the hope which fills my heart, and that makes me glad. It surprises me that, after everything that has happened, I still love her, and what surprises me even more is that it appears she still has feelings for me. For the first time since Ellie was born, I welcome the future._


	5. Chapter 5

It takes a little less than two days for Ruth to arrange an estate agent to handle the sale of her mother's house. She organises for the estate agent to hire cleaners to give the house a once over every week, and a hire firm to put some basic furniture in the house to give it that lived-in look, hopefully making it easier to sell. While speaking to the estate agent, Ruth discovers that there are cleaners who specialise in cleaning properties in which there has been violent deaths and suicides. She is briefly reminded of some of the stories Harry had told her about suspected terrorists being found in their homes, bomb-making equipment in their garages, and how on a few occasions, the perpetrators had chosen death by their own hand, rather than facing the humiliation of incarceration. She had never once considered who cleaned up afterwards. Then there was the time she and Keith Deery …...

She can't be thinking this way. That is history. She must leave it where it lies buried – in the past. If she and Harry are to have any kind of life together, they must first both draw a firm line under that past.

A life with Harry …... is this what she wants? She can't answer that question outright, other than to ask herself the simplest of questions …... Which would she rather – the chance of a life with Harry, or a life spent without him? Put that way, the question requires no consideration at all.

"I thought I'd ring you and let you know how today went," Ruth says, a little nervous about being the one to ring him. It is almost 10 pm, and she is already under the covers in her hotel room.

"I was just about to ring you, but I was …... worried I might interrupt something."

"Harry …... what do you mean by `interrupt something'?"

"You mentioned catching up with your cousin."

"Oh, her. Yes, I tried ringing her earlier. She's in Cornwall with her in-laws."

"That's bad luck."

"No …... its not. The relatives I have are all on my mother's side, and they're …... well, let's just say that seeing them once per decade is sometimes too often."

Harry is silent on the other end, and Ruth worries that her unkind words about Vivien and Geraldine – her mother's nieces – may have put him off. "You haven't met my cousins, Harry, and you wouldn't want to."

"Surely they can't be that bad."

"They are. I care about you too much to ever put you through meeting them."

Again, Harry is silent. Has she said too much?

"I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"No. I like listening to your voice. It soothes me."

"How was your day?"

"I'd rather you tell me about yours, Ruth."

And so their phone conversations – three in all – meander, from the mundane and everyday to the cusp of the personal. They never once step over the line into intimacy. That is not their way. Their feelings have always been held close to their chests, only infrequently bursting out of them in a look, or a gesture of caring, perhaps even love.

Ruth is back in London, in the room of her B&B, when she rings Harry to ask about that evening – what she has begun thinking about as their date. `It's New Years Eve, and I have a date', sounds so much better than, `Tonight is New Years Eve, and I'm helping my former boss babysit his two-year-old granddaughter'.

"I thought I'd check on arrangements for tonight," she says. "What do I need to bring."

"Nothing, Ruth. I'll bring everything."

"Even my pyjamas and toothbrush?"

"Now, well …... you'll need to bring those, and a change of clothes for tomorrow."

Ruth smiles at his discomfort. "Does Catherine know I'm to accompany you?"

"I dropped in yesterday, chiefly to see Ellie, and I asked Catherine was it alright if I brought a …... a friend with me."

"What did she say?"

"She asked was I bringing one of my old army mates. Then I saw that she was joking. She wanted to know everything about you."

"What did you tell her?"

Ruth hears the hesitation in his voice, before he begins to speak. "I'd already told her about you, back when you went into exile in 2006. By the time I'd finished telling her our rather sad story, she was almost in tears, and is ready to accept you into the family as her stepmother."

This time it is Ruth who remains silent.

"I've said too much, haven't I? I should at least have edited that before I spoke."

"No …... it's not that, Harry. I'm just really moved. Catherine hasn't yet met me. She might not take to me. She -"

"Ruth!"

"What?"

"I know that Catherine and you will hit it off. I just know it. And I know that Ellie will find you fascinating."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she's only ever seen me on my own. She's never seen me with …... with a woman, so that alone will fascinate her."

"Maybe this is happening all too soon, Harry."

"And maybe it's happening at just the right pace. How long was it we put off having a relationship?"

"Are we having a relationship? Is that what this is? I've only been back in the UK for four days."

"Four days is the perfect amount of time for us to be taking things to the next level."

"And what is the next level?"

"Why don't we just …. relax, and find out?"

By the time they end their conversation, Harry is very happy, while Ruth is panicking. _Talking_ about being with Harry is rather fun. On the other hand, actually _being_ with him …... that is another thing altogether. She has told him that she will sleep in the same bed as he, but she's not sure she has made it clear that she's not quite ready for sex. Not yet. Maybe she should text him to tell him. How would she word a text like that?

"By the way, Harry, do you remember me saying that I'd sleep with you? Well, I will, but shagging is out of the question."

Or:

"I know that you expect to sleep with me tonight. Just don't expect me to cross from my side of the bed to yours."

Why doesn't she tell him the truth?

"I don't think our first time should be in a bed in your daughter's house, with her little one in the room next to ours."

That is her concern, and perhaps her only concern. She doesn't send it. She is sure the subject will come up later.

* * *

Harry pulls up outside Mark's and Catherine's brand new Tudor style house – in a street of other similar homes – and carries his hold-all, and Ruth's hold-all to the front door. It has just gone 7, and as they walk to the door, through a window at the front of the house they see a pink-pyjama-clad toddler jumping up and down on a window seat, clapping her hands. They can just make out her saying `Poppy! Poppy!' over and over.

"You're Poppy?" Ruth asks out the side of her mouth.

"Poppy Pearce. Do you like it?"

"It's sweet."

The door is opened by Harry's daughter, now in her mid-30's, and with shorter hair than the film footage Ruth can only just remember seeing of her from around a decade ago. She is dressed in a knee-length party dress, which shows her baby bump. She has spray glitter in her hair, and more glitter on her eyelids.

"Dad," she says, embracing Harry, "lovely to see you. And you must be Ruth."

Ruth puts out her hand for Catherine to shake, but Harry's daughter ignores it, and pulls her into a quick embrace.

"If my father thinks enough of you to bring you here tonight, then we're already almost related."

Catherine notices the shock on Ruth's face, and pulls away from her, looking quickly at her father. "Have I put my foot in it already?"

"No, Catherine, you haven't," Ruth says quickly. "I'm not used to displays of affection from …... people I've just met. Sorry."

The moment is broken by the same blond-haired toddler from the window seat in the sitting room streaking down the hallway to the door, and throwing herself against Harry's legs. "Poppy!" she screams, "You're here."

"She rather likes him," Catherine explains quietly to Ruth, and Ruth smiles in reply.

"What's not to like?" she says.

"Ellie," Harry says, after the child has kissed him at least a dozen times, and he has picked her up, and is holding her on his hip with one arm around her. "I want you to meet my friend. Ellie, this is Ruth."

Suddenly, Ellie is shy, and she buries her face in Harry's neck, although after around ten seconds, she turns her head to look at Ruth, the top of her head still shoved into Harry's neck.

"Hello, Ellie," Ruth says. "Poppy has told me all about you. He's told me about your favourite things."

Ellie sits up straight in Harry's arms, and stares at Ruth. "Oof?" she says, pointing a finger at Ruth.

"Yes, that's right, my name is Ruth. I'm Poppy's friend."

"Like bubbles?"

"Oh, yes. I love bubbles."

"Make them now?" Ellie suddenly seems to be quite interested in Poppy's friend.

"No, pumpkin," Catherine says. "It's bedtime. I said you could wait up, and now Poppy is here to take you to bed. And sing to you."

Harry mouths the word `sing?' at Catherine, and she smiles at him. "It's all part of a grandfather's duties."

"Ruth? Can you help out an old man?"

"Enough of the old, Harry," Ruth replies, still smiling.

"Oof sing to me."

"I'll ask her," Harry replies, looking at Ruth, his eyes imploring her to help out with the music side of things. "After all, Ruth can sing, and Poppy is a rubbish singer."

So, feeling sorry for Harry, Ruth follows he and Ellie to the child's bedroom. She waits at a respectful distance, while Harry tells the child a story about a little girl who had a pet dragon in her bedroom. Then it is Ruth's turn.

"I don't know what to sing," she says, suddenly nervous, moving to stand close to Harry.

"It doesn't matter what you sing," he whispers in her ear, one hand resting on the small of her back. "She's two. She's hardly a music critic."

So Ruth sits on the bed beside Harry's small granddaughter, and very softly begins singing.

"_I sit and wait  
Does an angel contemplate my fate  
And do they know  
The places where we go  
When we're grey and old  
'cos I have been told  
That salvation lets their wings unfold  
So when I'm lying in my bed  
Thoughts running through my head  
And I feel that love is dead  
I'm loving angels instead."_

By the time she finishes the first chorus, Ellie's eyes are closed, and her breathing is deep and regular. Ruth reaches out, and in an almost unconscious act, she brushes her fingers over the child's forehead. She then stands to find Harry standing close behind her.

"That wasn't _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,_ Ruth. What was it?"

"Robbie Williams. I couldn't think of anything else to sing. My mind was a complete blank."

"Performance anxiety?"

She looks up at him and smiles, nodding her head. Harry can't help himself. With one hand resting on the small of her back, he reaches down and kisses her gently. And then he kisses her again, this time with the barest hint of passion, and Ruth holds his face between her hands.

Catherine had reached the doorway, with the door ajar, just to check on how things are going with the two of them putting Ellie to sleep. She needn't have worried. Things are ticking along very nicely indeed, and she couldn't be happier. Her daughter is asleep, and her dad is snogging Ruth. She quickly turns and heads back to her bedroom to tell Mark. Perhaps if they stay out really late, there might be a chance that the next wedding in the family will be her father's.

Here's hoping.

* * *

_**A/N: Told you it was fluffy ... and there's even more fluff on the horizon.**_

_**Acknowledgements: The lyrics to the song, `Angels', were co-written by Ray Heffernan, Robbie Williams, and Guy Chambers. The name `Oof', which Ellie calls Ruth, was inspired by theoofoof's user name.**_


	6. Chapter 6

By eight-thirty Catherine and Mark have left for their party, and so, apart from a sleeping Ellie, Ruth and Harry are alone in the house. They tuck into the turkey sandwiches Catherine had prepared for them, and Harry then opens their first bottle of wine.

"I'm not trying to get you inebriated," he says quietly, next to Ruth's ear, as he pours her a glass of pinot noir. "It's just that we're seeing in the new year together, and that makes it a special occasion."

Ruth takes a sip of her wine, glancing up at Harry over the rim of her glass. "Mmm, nice," she says.

Harry hopes her comment is not just about the wine.

He had turned on the TV, and muted the sound so that they can talk. "All we need is to see when Big Ben ticks over, and they set off the fireworks. We have no need for the commentary."

There is a gas fire in the sitting room, and the room is cosy. They curl up together at one end of the sofa. Both are dressed in jeans and thick jumpers, their overcoats left hanging on hooks in the front hallway, their shoes on the floor inside the front door. They each hold their glasses of wine in one hand, while they nestle against each other, Harry's arm curled around Ruth's shoulders.

They sit comfortably for some time, each watching the images on the TV, neither concerned that the sound is muted, and both thankful for something to distract them from each other.

"Being a grandparent suits you," Ruth says at last. "You seem …..."

"Comfortable?"

"Yes, that's the word. I would never have expected it."

"I'm enjoying her immensely. She's delightful."

"You're a natural, Harry."

"And I probably would have been an equally effective father had I valued the role back when my children came along."

Ruth turns her head to look at him, but he is smiling while he watches the moving images on the TV screen across the room. "Perhaps we have grandchildren so that we can correct the mistakes we made with our children," she says quietly.

This opens up a subject they have never discussed, at least with one another.

"Ruth …..."

"I know what you're about to say. You're about to ask me do I regret not having had children of my own."

Harry turns his head to look into her eyes, which are turned in his direction. "Do you?"

Ruth breaks eye contact before she answers quietly. "Sometimes. I regretted it tonight when I saw you with Ellie. It's just that no-one ever wanted children with me, and I was always busy with my career."

"Not all of that statement is true, Ruth."

"Which bit?"

"You know which bit. All you needed to have done was ask me."

Ruth shakes her head and looks away. "Harry, I know how you would have reacted had I come to you and said, `Oh, by the way, I'd like a child, and I've decided I want you to be the father.' You would have run a mile."

"You don't know that."

"You wouldn't have been happy. Without a relationship of intimacy between us, that would never have happened."

They sit in silence, each contemplating Ruth's words.

"I would have considered it a privilege had you asked me," Harry says quietly.

"I could never see anyone other than you being the father of my children."

"Then, why, Ruth? You knew how I felt about you back then. Why did you not return my advances?"

"I was just too scared to go that last little distance. In my head, I wanted it all, but the reality was just too confronting."

Harry sighs heavily, and reaches for the wine bottle, topping up their glasses. "It's not too late for us," he says, his voice little more than a whisper.

"In what way?"

"In every way. We can still have a child, Ruth."

"Harry …... I'm about to turn 45. I'm now ready to look for some work for myself which is safe, and won't demand that I leave the country to save the career of the man I love. Motherhood demands much more than I'm prepared to give, and anyway …... you make a wonderful grandfather. I'm not sure you'd feel as enthusiastic about a child who is in your house day and night, interrupting your sleep ..."

"Amongst other things."

Ruth looks up into his eyes, and again sees his desire for her. She quickly looks away.

"We should have had this conversation ten years ago," his says, his voice quiet, and full of regret.

"I think that maybe we're not meant to be parents together. It's something we just haven't managed to do. Surely to become parents, first we needed to have been in a relationship."

"Preferably, yes."

"And had you suggested it, I would have viewed your suggestion as just another devious attempt to get me into bed."

Harry throws his head back, and laughs throatily. He reaches down and kisses Ruth's cheek, and then extricates himself from her. "Snacks, Ruth? I'm hungry."

Ruth nods, and so Harry heads to the kitchen for a plate of crackers, cheese and olives which Mark had prepared and left for them.

* * *

It transpires that Ruth is the only one in the house who is awake when 2014 gives way to 2015. Ellie hasn't woken since she'd been sung to sleep, and less than a half hour before midnight, Harry had leaned back against a cushion, and nodded off. Once the countdown is over, and the fireworks have ended, Ruth leans across to kiss Harry on his jaw. He sighs loudly, but still sleeps, his arms folded across his chest. She _could_ let him sleep, perhaps cover him with a blanket, and retire to the room next to Ellie's …... but she then discovers that she doesn't want that. She wants to go to bed with Harry …... not for sex, but to hear him breathing deeply in the bed beside her, to feel his warmth under the duvet, to rest her head against his shoulder, to feel his arms around her. Most of all, Ruth admits that she wants to watch him as he wakes. She wants the first pair of eyes she sees in the morning to be his.

Ruth lifts herself on to her knees, and leans over Harry to kiss him on the lips. He wakes gradually, and as he does, he returns her kiss with more and more fervour, as he unfolds his arms, and slides them around her. Eventually, she finds herself lying against the cushions at the opposite end of the sofa, with Harry lying across her, kissing her deeply, his hands under her jumper, seeking her skin. Of course, she is enjoying it, but if they are to share a bed, this is not the best thing to be doing just prior to bedtime.

"Harry ….." she says, pushing him gently with her hands against his shoulders.

"Mmm?"

"You've missed midnight."

Harry rolls away from her, and concentrates on her face, a small smile turning his lips up at the edges. "I didn't miss it, Ruth. I just slept through it."

"Let's go to bed."

Harry smiles broadly. "I've waited almost ten years to hear you say those words."


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**_ _**Penultimate chapter, and thanks to all those who have read and reviewed. This fic began as just an idea for a one-shot, which then ballooned into 8 chapters.  
**_

_**This chapter is definitely M rated, so avoid if it's likely to offend.**_

* * *

Ruth is already under the duvet, dressed in her sensible flannel winter pyjamas, when Harry enters the room. He stands beside the bed, and removes his bathrobe. She watches him, but he avoids eye contact with her. Underneath his bathrobe, he wears navy blue track pants and a sky blue t-shirt. Ruth notices that he still has the protrusion of a belly, and she likes that. His chest and shoulders are broad, and she likes that even more. _ He won't blow away in a wind,_ she thinks, as he slides under the duvet, and turns to face her. Ruth can smell his cologne on his skin, and toothpaste on his breath as she leans towards him, and their mouths meet in a quick kiss.

"I imagine Ellie will be up at first light," Ruth says, lying her head back on her pillow.

"Maybe even earlier," Harry says as he turns out the light on the small table next to his side of the bed.

Now they are in bed together, Ruth realises that there is not a lot of room in a double bed for two mature-aged people. As much as she would love to fall asleep with Harry's arms around her, she knows that to do so would be far too tempting.

"Ruth," Harry says into the darkness.

"Yes?"

"Can I hold you?"

_Bugger._ Put like that, she can hardly say no …... can she? Ruth slides closer to Harry, and turns so that he can slide his arms around her. He begins kissing her, and the kiss quickly becomes passionate, his tongue sliding against her own. Ruth is almost ready to say `to hell with what is right and proper', when Harry pulls out of the kiss, and slides away from her.

"That was a close one," he whispers.

They are still lying on their sides, facing one another, when they fall asleep.

* * *

When Ruth wakes, it is still nighttime, and the house is quiet. She is lying facing away from Harry, and she can feel him curved around her back. Harry's arm is draped over her, and his hand rests on her stomach, underneath her pyjama top, his fingers sliding slowly and gently over her skin. She knows he is awake, and she knows that _he_ knows she is now awake.

"Harry?"

"Sshh," he says, lifting his head so that his mouth is close to her ear. "Do you trust me, Ruth?"

"Of course."

"Do you want me?"

"Harry, we can't -"

"We can, and we will. Catherine and Mark only arrived home an hour ago, so we'll have to get up to Ellie, but it's only four-thirty, and the door is closed. Even if she does wake up, she can't come in."

Ruth tries to turn, but she is caught in his embrace. "We can't make love, Harry. It wouldn't be right."

"Trust me. No animals will be harmed by what we're about to do ….. and nor will our reputations."

Harry's lips are close to her ear, and she feels his tongue slowly wind around inside her ear at the same time his fingers find her breast, and he caresses her skin so that she shudders with pleasure. Ruth then turns her face to him, and he lifts his body further, and meets her mouth in a deep and passionate kiss. She can still taste the flavour of peppermint toothpaste on his breath, and on his tongue.

"Toothpaste?" she asks, pulling out of the kiss.

"I got up when Catherine and Mark came home, and I thought I'd clean my teeth while I was up."

"You've planned this?"

"Only in my head."

"That's usually where plans are made, Harry. How come you didn't shave?"

He rubs his fingers over his chin, only a little scratchy with stubble. "Do you think I should?"

"No. I like it. I rather like doing this."

And Ruth leans close to him, and rubs her cheek against his. Then she turns her face so that she can kiss him. Harry moans into her mouth, while he moves his hand slowly down her abdomen, and his fingers slide under the elastic of her pyjama pants. When his fingers reach her pubic hair, he pulls his mouth away from hers, and kisses her from underneath her ear, all the way down her neck, and to her collar bone. By the time he is licking and kissing the hollow at her throat, his fingers are sliding across her sex, so that eventually - inevitably - he slides one finger inside her.

Ruth does trust him. She now knows exactly what he has in mind, and he is getting there very fast. As he dips into her with two fingers, and sets up a steady rhythm, she can feel him pushing his erection against her thigh. Ruth turns slightly towards him, so that she can again feel his mouth on hers. She is close to climax, but she is trying to hold back. Harry's fingers inside her, his tongue sliding in and out of her mouth, and his erection pushed hard against her hip – through two layers of clothing – are too insistent, too exciting for her to hold back any longer. Ruth takes her mouth from his, and buries her face against his shoulder while she comes, her cries of pleasure muffled by his t-shirt.

She rests against him, and Harry removes his fingers from inside her, and pulls the waistband of her pants up to her waist. Once Ruth can again speak, she looks up into Harry's eyes. His pupils are fully dilated, and she can see from his face that he has held back his own orgasm.

"Thank you so much,"she says, pulling away from him to make room for her to slide her own hand under the elastic of his track pants. "Now it's your turn."

"No, Ruth. I'm fine."

She finds him then, still hot and hard, and he twitches as she touches him. "You're not fine. Let me."

Harry leans into her, again putting his mouth on hers in a hard and insistent kiss. He slips one of his hands under her pyjama top, over her belly to her breast, and massages her flesh, his forefinger moving around and around her nipple, while Ruth takes hold of him, and begins to slide her hand up and down his length, squeezing him between her fingers as she does so. It feels like only seconds before he twitches in her hand, and then begins pulsing. Ruth pushes her body against him as he comes, aware that she wants to avoid stains on the sheets. Harry's orgasm is long and exhausting, as he ejaculates against Ruth's bare stomach, and then he pulls her with him as he lies on his back, with her draped across him.

"Dear God," he says at last, his mouth against her neck. "That was …... unbelievable. Just imagine what we'll be like when I'm inside you."

"I hope we didn't wake the others."

"Ellie is a heavy sleeper, and so is Mark," Harry replies, still breathing heavily, "and I suspect Catherine is tired enough to sleep through anything."

"Harry, you groaned quite loudly, and for rather a long time."

"If anyone mentions it, we can tell them I was having a nightmare. Northern Ireland."

"Of course. Your post traumatic stress kicking in."

"Do you think she'd believe that?"

"Not a chance." Ruth lifts herself so that she can kiss him, tasting their passion on his mouth.

* * *

It is much later – after they'd quickly visited the bathroom, washed, and tidied themselves - that they fall asleep quickly, exhausted from their impromptu lovemaking. This time, Ruth is content to snuggle in Harry's arms, her head resting on his chest while she sleeps.

Ruth wakes first, turning towards Harry, watching his face, stress-free and restful in sleep, his breathing deep and steady. Noticing the time on the clock on Harry's bedside table, Ruth places her lips gently on his cheek, waking him slowly.

"I'd really like a cuddle before Ellie wakes," Ruth whispers against his mouth.

Harry smiles, and stretches, and then wraps her in his arms, and returns her kiss. It is a gentle, soft and loving kiss, and they part, smiling at one another. Ruth feels Harry's hand under the duvet, as he glides his palm over her abdomen, and then down her body to her thigh. She watches him, knowing what he'll be equating the word `cuddle' with `sex', so she turns in his arms, and lies close to him, sliding her arms around his neck, gliding her fingertips over the skin of his neck. She lifts the fingers of one hand to run over the hair on the back of his head. Harry is now wearing his hair much shorter than he had when she'd left London. It is smart, and suits him, but leaves her with nothing to wind around her fingers.

"What's wrong?" he asks against her ear, his hand still sliding up and down her thigh, while his other arm is wrapped around her waist.

"It's your hair. I can't grab it."

"That's the idea."

Harry pulls away a little to look at her, and then he kisses her with passion and need. Ruth feels him pushing his belly and hips against her, and his warm body feels so good to her that she is tempted to once again allow them to enjoy one another. She moans against his mouth as he kisses her, but then they are both startled by a tapping on the door, and a small voice calling out.

"Poppy," Ellie calls, and so, breaking away from Ruth with another quick kiss to her lips, Harry gets out of bed to open the door to his granddaughter, who quickly climbs on to the bed, and slides under the duvet next to Ruth. "Oof. Ellie. Poppy," she says, pointing at each of them in turn. "Get up. Poppy get bekfast." Then she wriggles her feet under the duvet, accidentally kicking Ruth in the thigh.

"I'll go downstairs to get her breakfast," Harry says, "while you two get acquainted."

Harry tries to be quiet as he makes a pot of tea for he and Ruth, and some cereal and a trainer cup of warm milk for Ellie. He carries a tray with their breakfast things upstairs, and down the hallway to the bedroom, just in time to hear a snippet of conversation between Ruth and Ellie.

He is standing just outside the door, when he hears Ellie say, "Oof love Poppy?"

"Yes, Ellie," Ruth replies quietly. "Ruth loves Poppy."

When he steps through the door, he smiles at them both, his heart singing.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Last chapter. Thank you to readers and reviewers.**_

* * *

Catherine had stayed in bed until just before they left, and Mark had had to put Ellie to bed for her daytime nap.

"Mmm, interesting," Mark says as he joins Ruth and Harry in the kitchen. "The things kids say."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks.

"Her last words to me before she fell asleep were, `Oof loves Poppy.'" Mark looks from Harry to Ruth and back again.

"She must have imagined it," Ruth says, her face giving nothing away.

"She's a particularly observant child, as Harry already knows."

Harry shrugs his shoulders, and tucks into his chicken salad sandwich. "Good night last night, Mark?"

Mark shakes his head, smiling at them both. "Just make sure that Catherine and I receive an invitation."

"To what?" Harry appears disinterested in the conversation.

"To your nuptials."

Harry and Ruth exchange a quick glance, but maintain expressions of neutrality. They continue munching on their sandwiches, and Harry wipes mayonnaise from his chin with a paper napkin.

* * *

"Ruth …..."

They are only a couple of blocks from the B&B, and Harry feels he must speak now, before it's too late.

"Mmm?"

"I …... I don't want you to spend another night in that B&B." He quickly looks at her, but Ruth is gazing ahead, through the windscreen.

"Oh? Where do you suggest I sleep?"

"At my house. With me. I'm asking you to move in …... with me."

Ruth then turns her head to look at him, relieved that he has taken this risk, that he has been brave enough to risk her rejection. "I've been wondering when you'd ask …... or even if."

"I've wanted you living with me from the moment I opened my front door to you …... how many days ago was it?"

"Five."

"That long?"

Harry pulls up in front of the building, and turns off the motor. He reaches across and kisses Ruth, his fingers under her chin. "I was so scared you'd say no," he says quietly, his face still close to hers.

"I know, but I had to wait until you asked me, Harry. I have to know that you want me with you enough to take that risk."

Harry nods, kisses her again, and then turns to open his car door. "Let's get your things."

* * *

They spend the afternoon packing Ruth's possessions into Harry's car, and then driving back to his house, and unpacking them, only to find places for them in Harry's house.

"Your clothes are easy," Harry points out, climbing the stairs, carrying one of her suitcases. "There's plenty of room in my wardrobe, and my chest of drawers."

"I'm sleeping with you?"

Harry stops on the landing, puts down the case, and turns to Ruth, who by this time, is standing beside him. "After last night, where did you think you were going to sleep? I was really hoping you'd want to sleep with me."

She smiles and nods. "Just checking."

After Ruth's clothes are hung and stacked in drawers, her toiletries in the en suite bathroom, and her few books are lined up on the bookshelves in the sitting room, Harry runs a bath.

"It might help us relax, Ruth."

They have each undressed, and are wearing their bathrobes, when Harry's mobile phone rings. He picks it up from beside his bed, and listens.

"Alright, I'll ask her." He covers the phone with his hand, and looks at Ruth, who is just about to remove her bathrobe before she climbs into the bath. "Ellie refuses to go to sleep until you sing to her. She wants the angel song."

Ruth puts out her hand for the phone, and speaks briefly to Catherine, and then begins singing softly into the phone. Harry stands in the doorway to the en suite, his shoulder resting against the door frame, spellbound by the ease with which Ruth has adopted the role of soothing his granddaughter with her voice. He knows how Ellie feels ... after all, he also is soothed when she speaks or sings.

Ruth hands the phone back to him, having said goodnight to Catherine. "Asleep within two minutes," she says, smiling.

Harry takes the phone from her hand, and grasps her fingers in his. "You're amazing, do you know that?" he says quietly, his eyes seeking hers. "What have I ever done to deserve you?"

Ruth is momentarily stunned by his openness. She and Harry are not in the habit of declaring themselves to one another. It is not their way. She lifts her face to look into his eyes. "And here was I thinking I'm the lucky one."

* * *

Getting into the bath is the awkward part, with Ruth sliding under the water first, leaving Harry stranded, standing beside the bath, completely naked. He begins to cover himself with his hands, when Ruth reaches out, and grasps one of his hands in hers.

"I've had my hand on what you're trying to hide, Harry. There's no need for embarrassment."

"I'm not embarrassed. I'm trying to be polite."

Ruth smiles at him, as he steps into the bath behind her, and leans back against the end of the bath, pulling her against him so that he can slide his arms around her.

"I hadn't known it was possible to be this happy," he says, his mouth close to her ear.

They lay back in the bath – Ruth nestling between his legs, with her head on his shoulder – for over half an hour. Surprisingly, it is relaxing. Harry has not spoken for a while, so Ruth assumes he has fallen asleep.

"I've been thinking …..."

The rumble of Harry's voice in his chest startles Ruth, but she listens.

"If it's alright with you, I think we should get married."

Ruth says nothing. What does one say to that? Is this a serious proposal? Is he simply brainstorming? What?

"Isn't it a bit soon to be talking marriage?" she says at last.

"Ruth, we've known one another for over a decade -"

"And we've spent the past four years apart. We have to reacquaint ourselves with one another."

"But you're not against the suggestion."

"No …... on the contrary, I think marriage is probably inevitable."

"You make it sound like the plague."

Ruth turns in his arms, and lifting one arm, she slips her hand around his neck, and kisses him gently. He begins to kiss her with more passion, and his hands move from her waist down her body to between her legs, where he gently massages her. She begins to moan softly, and then turns in his arms, at the same time as she pulls his fingers from between her legs.

"I thought you were enjoying that," he says, his voice rasping against her ear.

"I am. I have a suggestion."

Harry lifts his head, so that eye contact is easier.

"My suggestion," Ruth begins, "is that we get out of the bath, dry ourselves, have something to eat, and then go to bed together."

"You're not tired, then."

"No, Harry, I'm not tired."

"I'd like it if we made love ….. properly this time."

"Mmm, me too."

Suddenly, Ruth pulls away from him, and steps out of the bath. She doesn't look back at him until she's wrapped a towel around herself. "And about that question you asked me," she says, turning to face him, and running her eyes over his whole body, her expression one of appreciation.

"What question?"

"The marriage question."

Harry sits up in the bath, his face eager.

"Ask me again in a month. If we haven't killed one another, or died from boredom, then marriage might be an option."

Harry watches her as she leaves through the door to the bedroom. He knows that his second proposal was no more romantic than his first, so he can hardly be disappointed that she hasn't swooned in his arms at the suggestion. He knows what he must do. He must woo her, look after her, make himself indispensable to her. Then she'll have to say yes.

As Harry pulls the plug, and then steps out of the bath, he makes a mental note to talk to Catherine. She's a woman, and she might have some ideas about how he can best get Ruth to say yes. He couldn't bear it were she to again say no.

In the bedroom, where Ruth has just finished dressing, she smiles as she thinks of Harry. She knows he's worried that he blew it once again. It seems proposals of marriage are not his forte. She also knows she'll say yes when he again proposes to her. More than anything, Ruth is looking forward to Harry wooing her, as she knows he will. She is very much looking forward to the next four weeks.

* * *

"You know," Ruth says, once they've settled into bed together, and they've turned towards one another, their faces close, "if we go ahead with this marriage idea -"

"It's not just an idea, Ruth, it's a commitment. I'm completely serious."

"I know, and so am I. What I wanted to say was ... if _this_ isn't that good - tonight -"

"You mean the sex?"

"Yes. If it isn't that great between us, it's not a deal breaker. I'll not be marrying you for sex, Harry ..."

"And here was I, thinking you lust after my body."

"I do, but ... I'm not after you just for sex. Without you, I'm not fully functional. These past four years, I've only been half alive. I can see that now. When I'm with you, everything is just that much brighter, and my heart is lighter. You _are_ my life, Harry."

And that is when she stops talking, because he's leaned into her, and is kissing her. If that's not an acceptance of his marriage proposal, then he doesn't know what is.

* * *

Much later, after Ruth has fallen into a deep post-coital sleep beside him, Harry opens the drawer by his bedside, and takes out his diary, along with the pen Ruth gave him, and he begins to write.

_Thursday 1st January 2015:_

_2015 has begun in the best possible way. After dinner Ruth and I retired to bed, and we made love for the first time. Yes, we first met almost 12 years ago, and we have loved one another for much of that time, and yet we waited until now. It was everything I had hoped it would be. I am hoping this augers well for her reply to the clumsy proposal of marriage I sprang on her earlier in the evening. If I'm being honest, I was spurred on by both Catherine and Mark suggesting that a marriage is on the horizon, along with Ellie's astute observation that "Oof loves Poppy"._

_I remain hopeful. Ruth is everything I have ever wanted, and if I can't have her – if she stops loving me, for whatever reason – then I am prepared to remain single for the rest of my days on earth._

_I regret taking no for an answer when last I proposed to her – and when I asked her on that second dinner date over eight years ago. Despite that, I am happy with where we are now, and I am sure she is also. Only a week ago I would not have called myself a happy man – contented in a way, but certainly not happy. How quickly things change._

_Fin_


End file.
